


Closer

by Nixiie



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga), Devilman Crybaby - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Blood and Gore, Choking, Come Inflation, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Guro, M/M, Necrophilia, POV Fudo Akira, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wound Fucking, demonic transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 14:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19947376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixiie/pseuds/Nixiie
Summary: You find him in his bedroom, naked. Perfect white skin in perfect white sheets. Pristine. His hands are already cuffed behind his back. He’s been waiting for you. It makes your blood run hot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try writing guro and picked this pairing because of how horny and violent the show is. I apologize if my characterization is off, but hopefully the horror smut is worth it.
> 
> Also, please read the tags if you’re worried about triggers, this shit is fucked.

Ryo’s voice on the phone is quiet, almost gentle. He’s always quiet with you. In the rest of his life he’s so controlled, intense and calculating; untouchably powerful in his detachment, unpredictable and destructive, but always one step ahead, pulling all the strings. 

It’s different with you. He trusts you. You get to see him smile. You get to see every secret part of him.

“Come over,” he says, “I have something for you.” You feel your pulse speed up.

When you arrive at his apartment he doesn’t come to the door. You let yourself in to the sterile space. White and glass, just like him. The giant screen on one wall plays a feed of endless chaos. It’s on mute. Outside the world is ending, but in Ryo’s perfect domain, everything is serene. Everything but you.

You find him in his bedroom, naked. Perfect white skin in perfect white sheets. Pristine. His hands are already cuffed behind his back. He’s been waiting for you. It makes your blood run hot. He looks up at you through ice pale lashes, gives you the smallest smile with his tiny, perfect mouth. On someone else it might look innocent, buy Ryo has never been innocent. Even when you were children you could sense the depth of darkness in him. It terrified and magnetized you, and you’ve never been able to look away. Now you’ve seen him kill and maim indiscriminately, and summon devils for his own agenda who did much worse. You’ve seen the glee on his face when he fights, when he kills. Ryo is not innocent. But neither are you. Not anymore. 

Your eyes are glued to him as you stalk forward, a predator on lanky jagged limbs.

“Akira,” quiet voice, always so calm, always so controlled. You won’t let him get away with that for long. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The words tear something open inside you. You become an animal, frenzied in your need. 

You attack.

This urge scared you at first, the sexual need that grew in you after you changed, to possess, to destroy. You know now it’s only the devil inside you. It’s not you. But it makes little difference, if you don’t satisfy the urges they become harder and harder to control. You can’t think about anything else. You are overwhelmed by _need_.

And Ryo is so shockingly willing to indulge your perverse desires. Ryo enjoys the way you brutalize him. It’s twisted. And sometimes afterwards you hate yourself for doing these things to him. You feel sick as you hold his battered body to you, whispering that you love him, but he’s always laughed at your fear. He loves you, and he loves the pain. Sometimes he begs you for it. And you will always give him what he asks. You trust him with more than your life. 

His body is cool against your too hot skin. Your blood is boiling; he burns you like ice. He crumples beneath you as your teeth find his neck. He’s so thin, he looks so fragile, powerless. He isn’t, but this is his gift to you: control. You suspect that he likes giving it even more than you like to take it away. 

Your teeth sink in. He whimpers. 

After that it becomes a frenzied blur. You’re behind him, one arm locked around his throat as he squirms. You rake your nails down his chest drawing blood. the scent of it and the way he shudders in your arms makes your cock grow impossibly harder. It aches. You want to ruin him.

You push him down on the bed, bite his neck, his back, lift him up by his flesh with your teeth as he shrieks in ecstasy. His porcelain skin is red from the abuse. You wonder if your jaw is strong enough to bite through it. The idea scares you but something deep inside you shudders with perverse desire and you’re desperate for the taste of his blood. You want to feel him opening up for you.

You’re not sure where the knife even comes from. It’s not yours. Ryo must have– no, his wrists are bound. But it’s gloriously sharp, wickedly beautiful in your hand, and he’s lying face down in front of you; and then you’re carving into his back, making him gasp and moan and shake, and there’s blood. There’s so much blood. It’s spilling from him, welling from each beautiful laceration, staining his perfect sheets. 

The smell of it is iron and lust, tainting the air, and you can’t control your salivation. You’re like a starving animal. You throw yourself at him, wallow in it, covering yourself in gore, digging your tongue into open wounds. It’s in your mouth. You can taste his pain and it’s spiking lust through every nerve in your pulsating body.

You feel your humanity slipping away; the devil inside you is winning and his enjoyment and greed are becoming your own. Ryo’s cries are intoxicating, his blood is making you drunk. You need this. You are a whirlwind of grotesque desire.

You break the handcuffs with your bare hands, and haul Ryo to his hands and knees. He’s weak from pain and pleasure, shaking as he tries to hold himself up. You shove your aching cock into his open mouth, digging your fingers through the wounds on his back as his throat opens up around you. The strangled sound he makes when you grab the knife and keep cutting vibrates through you. It's electric, ecstatic. He’s choking on your cock, eyes streaming as you push further down his throat, make him take all of it until his nose is pressed against your pubic bone and his mouth is stretched wide, and he’s so fucking tight around you it almost hurts. You pull back and start to slam into him, the knife cuts deeper, he’s incoherent, you’re smearing yourself with his blood. 

_What’s happening to you?_ The thought is gone as quickly as it arrives. 

When you pull out of his mouth he immediately collapses, gasping and choking for every breath. You pick him back up and hold him to your chest, kiss him slow and deep, let him taste his own blood in your mouth, taste your cock in his. He’s so limp and supple in your arms. You want to tear him apart in a way you don’t understand. It makes your jaw ache with need and your chest tighten. It’s love and lust, the urge to possess and destroy. You want to crush him, to dig your fingers through his skin and use his ribs as handles while you fuck him in half. You need it.

When you pull back from the kiss he’s smiling at you, and his eyes are cold and hungry, even as his slack body quivers in your arms. 

“Fuck me,” he whispers, and his voice is hoarse from your cock, and nothing could stop you now.

You throw him down, position yourself behind him, and spit into your hand. What you end up slicking your cock with is more blood than saliva, but he won’t care, and neither do you. You push into him. It’s smooth, and wet, and impossibly tight. And his back is arching, and he’s keening, head thrown back, hands in fists as he pushes himself up on shaking elbows. As you take him.

You’re above him, poised for destruction, pushed up on your arms, dark skin to his pale, hair wild, eyes wilder, the devil defiling his angelic beauty. But even being torn apart he looks like heaven. You start to pound into him with animalistic fury. He feels like desire incarnate, like sin, like perfection.

You grab him by his throat and pull him to his knees in front of you. You’re so deep inside him, and he’s so fucking slick and tight. You feel like you’re on fire, burning with pleasure, melting his ice, turning him to liquid, receptive and pliant beneath you. Your arm goes around his throat, squeezing, choking him hard in the crook of your elbow. His moans become strangled murmurs, a humming purr deep in his bony chest as you take him completely.

It’s impossibly hot when you feel him go limp in your arms, completely giving in to your domination. There’s a coiling excitement in your stomach as you continue to pound into his languid form. His bones are like water; you’ve destroyed his will, and now he is completely yours. Mindless, pliant, malleable. 

It takes a moment before you realize he’s unconscious. You panic, releasing his throat, and he falls to the bed, unmoving. The hazy part of your mind that’s still human realizes there’s blood everywhere, and he’s still not breathing, and suddenly you become terribly afraid. You cradle him to your chest, kiss his face, whisper his name, “Ryo?” Your voice is hoarse, coming between sobs. “Ryo!” 

He comes to gasping, his whole body seizing in your arms, and the relief washes over you like the monsoon. You feel the tears pouring down your face. You cry like it will purifying you, but nothing could wash away this sin. You rock in place holding him close. In this moment, your love for him is indescribable; big enough to fill the world. 

“What happened?” he croaks, “Why are you crying?”

“You passed out… I choked you, i was so afraid…” You struggle to breathe between the sobs, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Akira,” his voice is gentle, reassuring, “Are you?”

_Are you?_ You don’t feel guilty. You know you probably should, but guilt is too human an emotion and you’re having a hard time with those right now. You don't feel guilt, instead the baser fear, and relief, and love are rattling around inside you, spurring on your insane, perverse desire. You’re painfully hard. You want to keep fucking him. You want to do that again. It terrifies you.

“I… I liked it.” The tears are pouring down your face but what comes out of your mouth is almost a growl. “When you went limp it was so hot. I wanted to ruin you, but then i thought i had and i was so afraid, and i–” 

“If you liked it,” he cuts you off, giving you his angelic smile, “you should do it again.” 

The tension in your stomach explodes into butterflies. You want it. You know that should scare you, that it’s fucked up, that it’s dangerous, but you’re not in control of your desire anymore. And he’s asking for it, and you want it so bad. The idea of his wilted body, pliant underneath you turns you on in a way you could never expect. Your cock twitches.

He laughs. “Don’t be afraid Akira, I like it when you choke me.”

So you do it again. 

Over and over he goes limp in your arms, and you release his throat, and he comes to gasping. His spasming body is so tight around you, and after the first time you don’t even stop fucking him while he recovers. You hammer into him while he struggles, and then succumbs, and then bursts back to life. Each stage of the act is intoxicating in its own way. He’s perfect, and fragile, and yours to ruin. Over and over you choke the life out of him, feel him go slack beneath you. You learn you like it best when you can see his face, when you get to watch the light go out of his eyes. 

He’s on his back again, beneath you, and your long fingers grip his bruising throat. There’s blood everywhere, painting his torso, staining his pristine white sheets, staining him. You’re defiling perfection. Nothing has ever made you harder. He’s making choked gurgling noises of pleasure as you pound into him over and over. You wanted to make him loud, but your chokehold suppressing the sound is even hotter than his voice. 

His fingers scrabble at your hands and his body writhes beneath you. You keep your eyes locked on his as they fill with panic, and his face goes from red to bluish white, as the panic dulls to acceptance, and his body once again goes limp. 

Your hands are locked around his throat, still squeezing, and his body is so pliant and yielding beneath you. He’s slack, and loose, and impossibly malleable. Boneless, nerveless, yours to shape, to manhandle, to defile. With every frenzied thrust you feel like you’re ripping him open, tearing him apart from the inside, he doesn’t protest. You own him. He exists only for you. Your hands are still around his throat. This time when you take them away, he doesn’t wake up. 

His body is dead weight when you flip him over, and he’s so impossibly pale, cooling against your flushed skin. You plunge back into him. You’re on fire. Possessing him, destroying him, ripping him apart with your cock while he can do nothing but take it and take it. He’s yours, not a person anymore, just a plaything, face down on the mattress, unmoving, an object for you to use. You fuck him, hard and fast. It feels so impossibly, unbelievably good. The pleasure claws through you, filling your mind with lightning, obliterating any humanity you had left. Every nerve is burning and he is the outlet for your ecstacy. 

His body is heavy when you pick it up and hold him to your chest, arms swinging with the momentum of your thrusts. His head lolls to the side, mouth open, expressionless. His ice blue eyes are clouded. He’s like a ragdoll, floppy and debilitated, it makes you feel so powerful. You toss him back down on his back and pause for a moment to examine your broken toy. He’s a mess bloody and ruined, but he’s still unnervingly beautiful. His white blond hair makes a halo around his head, and somehow he looks even more angelic dead than he did alive. It’s like all the darkness, and pain, and intensity have gone out of him, and he’s pure again. His innocence restored through death.

It makes you want to defile him even further.

This time when the knife slides across his stomach he doesn’t bleed. It’s puzzling for a moment, but then you realize his heart isn’t beating. There’s nothing to push the blood out. You’ll have to cut deeper if you want something fresher than the coagulating mess he's lying in.

His skin parts so easily under the blade, splitting like a fruit to reveal its succulent insides. The blood pools sluggishly in the deeper cuts and you thrust your face into them to suck it up, lapping at the gaping wounds. On his chest your tongue squirms over the hardness of bone, and a little thrill runs through you at the intimacy of tasting his insides, at getting to be so deep in him, deeper than anyone has ever been able to touch him before. 

You scoot forward, straddling him and roll your hips against a cavernous wound running from his bony hip towards his navel. The blood seeps around your cock and you growl. It's sticky, and enticing, his skin is cool, but inside he’s still warm. You want more. You try to push into him, fucking against the cut, feeling his dark blood congealing around you. Something rips and you’re inside. It’s hot, and wet, and you rock into the deliciously sucking slickness of it.

You fuck the bleeding hole until you’ve pulverized it, until whatever is inside has become loose and gelatinous and the gore is drying around your cock. Then you grab the knife and make another hole, smaller, tighter, ready to be filled. The smell of blood is is making your vision go red, or maybe that’s the overwhelming pleasure of fucking him. He feels like heaven, like going home. You belong inside him. The ecstasy of it is incandescent.

Your body starts to expand as you continue to fuck into him. You’re changing, taking on your devil shape, your fingers become claws, and pierce through his shoulders where you’re grabbing him for leverage. They sink in to the knuckle with a sucking squelch. Your cock is growing too, becoming enormous, ripping him open from the inside. You can see it bulging through him, see the hole you’re fucking tearing further and further to accommodate the massive girth.

When you cum, it feels like the world is ending. Like you are the god of destruction herself. It’s screaming in your ears, spiraling through your mind, ripping you open with such insane pleasure that you think your body might burst apart. It seems to last forever as you become a vortex of ecstasy, roaring your satisfaction as orgasm obliterates you. You are devil. You are god. You are power incarnate. This is the meaning of existence.

Your cum fills his abdominal cavity, pulsing over and over until his already bulging stomach becomes massively inflated, until he’s bursting with it, tearing further open with the power of each shot. When you pull out and collapse beside him cum spews from the gaping wound, flowing out of him to merge with the blood soaking through the bedding. He's a broken thing, enshrined at the center of a lake or gore.

When you come to you’re panting, sprawled on the spongy, soaking mattress. You're back in your own shape, and it feels too tight. The scent of blood is thick in the air. It’s congealing on your skin, sticky, cold, sickening. It takes a while for your conscious mind to drift fully back to you; you’re exhausted, and elated. You’ve never cum in your devilman form before, and nothing has ever felt so incredible. It doesn’t seem possible. You’re still shaking with the aftershocks, floating on a cloud of untouchable euphoria. It’s almost worth losing your humanity for. 

And then you realize what’s lying beside you. 

“Ryo?” Your voice croaks, “Oh fuck, Ryo!” 

_Fuuuuuucccck!_

Dread and horror wrench at your heart.

_What the fuuuuuccckkkkk?_

The guilt slams into your stomach like a fist, and you throw up. Over and over you wretch, puking until it’s nothing but bile, and your body is wracked with heaving sobs as you convulse. The tears stream down your face. There’s so much blood. It’s everywhere. You’re coated in it. 

“Ryyyooo...” it leaves your lips as a desperate moan. 

_What have you done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told a commenter recently that i end all my fics in kisses because my boys deserve happiness. I did not do that here. Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> If you want a slightly more hopeful but maybe less impactful ending continue on to chapter two. It's like a 100 word epilogue that i couldn't decided if i wanted to include in the main fic or not, so it's getting its own chapter.


	2. Epilogue

It’s Ryo’s number on the screen of your phone. It’s impossible. You buried him. It’s been a week and you can still smell his blood, see it under your fingernails. You’ll never be clean of him. Either this is the worst joke in the world or the guilt is driving you insane. Your hands shake as you flip the phone open. 

“Akira,” it’s his voice. 

The bottom drops out of your stomach, your heart lurches in your chest. You feel dazed, woozy, like you might faint. “Ryo?” you croak, your mouth is dry. This is not real. He’s dead. You’re hallucinating.

“You shouldn’t have killed me Akira,” he continues calmly, almost sweetly, “Think of how much more fun we could have had if i’d been able to scream. Ah well. Perhaps next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being literally Satan, i don't imagine Ryo would stay dead for very long. Not with how much he cares about Akira. ...So i wrote this bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you're both turned on and squicked out. The fact that this shit gets me off kind of makes me question my sanity. This is my first time writing horror. Let me know how i did in the comments. 
> 
> This fic is named after [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccY25Cb3im0).


End file.
